The Rift Walker (12 page)

He was so lost in thought, he no longer heard her.

“Hmph.” Fen rolled her eyes and dropped her gnarled fingers from Gareth's shoulders. She brushed her skirt and recovered her cold distance. “I see now you are nothing like Dmitri. It's no wonder you don't have any women or children. Who would put up with you?”

Gareth said with a distant voice, “I'm sorry, Your Majesty. Perhaps another time.”

Queen Fen whirled to go. “Pfft. I leave for New York tomorrow. Where men won't waste my rare passion with chitchat. I should've expected as much from a man who opens his own doors.”

“I'll give my father your best.” Gareth shut the door behind her, then ran to prepare his departure from London.

“I
T'S SO BEAUTIFUL
,” Major Stoddard repeated for the tenth time.

Colonel Anhalt smiled. It was gratifying to see the Sahara's impact on the American. The desert's power was at its most exquisite at night, with its unseen horizon and an endless dome of brilliant stars overhead. Even the meandering caravan, several miles of men and camels and horses ferrying great slabs of salt southward, was dwarfed by the surroundings. The sounds of talking and laughing and braying were swallowed up by the unbounded winds.

There were few places where Anhalt felt happier. The desert made men feel small because all they had to keep them upright was their inner nature. Men of no character feared the desert, but in reality what they feared was the emptiness the desert brought to them. A man could survive a mistake in life—Anhalt was proof of that—but the desert, like the world at large, did not forgive failures of character. Anhalt knew that the day he was afraid of the desert was the day he had betrayed himself. And he would—and deserved to—die.

“One day,” Stoddard said, struggling to settle on the rocking camel as his hand sought the small of his aching back, “I'll show you the Grand Canyon in the old Arizona Territory. I flew over it once. You've never seen the like.”

“I'd enjoy that.” Anhalt swayed easily with the camel's gait. He had ridden these beasts so many times he found the odd pounding steps relaxing. “I thought you would appreciate a few days away from Alexandria, traveling with a caravan, before the wedding.”

“Thank you. After the wedding, we'll all be busy, I suspect. I doubt the senator will give me much leave time.” Stoddard noticed Colonel Anhalt give a short, cynical huff. Senator Clark was certainly not the colonel's favorite person, since the embarrassing public shaming Anhalt had received in Marseilles. To Anhalt's credit, he never tried to make excuses; he understood his fault in the debacle that led to Princess Adele's capture by vampires. Stoddard had spent enough time around Anhalt in the last few months since returning from Edinburgh to cultivate a great respect for him. Anhalt was a consummate soldier with steely loyalty for his charge, Princess Adele. Even in the face of Clark's emasculating rant, Anhalt had borne up like a man of character, acted with respect toward a superior officer and the intended husband of his princess. However, there was something tragic in Anhalt, as if his life was merely a series of events leading to some great sacrifice. He was a purpose, not a man.

Stoddard said, “Colonel, if I may, I'd like to tell you how much respect I have for you, sir. All of the American Rangers feel the same.”

Anhalt's head turned slowly, and his hands flexed with confusion. “Thank you, Major.”

“And I'd like to tell you about Senator Clark,” the American pressed on. “Certainly, he can be brusque and difficult. But there is another side to Senator Clark that few see. His men would follow him anywhere. Myself included.”

“Clearly. Your raid on Edinburgh is already legendary. As well it should be.”

“It all comes from his willpower. I've never known a man as brave as he, sometimes to the point of foolhardiness. But he's not a normal man. He sports an aura of invincibility. He is so sure of his victory that we all believe it.”

“I assumed as much. He is a…forceful personality.”

“I will tell you the truth, sir, and this is something I believe as surely as I believe the sun will rise tomorrow. If there is one man who can defeat the vampires, it's Senator Clark. He will make it happen. In our lifetime, we will be in Washington and New York, and you will be in Paris and London. But not without him. This war will fail without Senator Clark.”

Anhalt considered his companion's words. He knew Stoddard well enough to know this wasn't the meanderings of an acolyte. The major truly believed that the senator had some special place in the world. Anhalt could understand it, but found it difficult to credit.

Before he could formulate a reply, up the plodding caravan, no more than twenty lengths ahead, a dark shape rushed at a Tuareg walking beside a laden camel. A terrified scream erupted, and a wash of dark matter flew from the man. The long corridor of panicked camels plunged and veered while the Tuareg struggled to hold them. They shouted in their Arabic-Hausa pidgin and pulled guns and swords.

“Ambush!” shouted Anhalt, yanking his Fahrenheit blade from the scabbard as he slapped the hindquarters of his beast, startling the camel into a lope. He clicked the shroud gas filter onto his goggles, and the camels and men appeared as red shapes. Sure enough though, Anhalt saw the dim blue form of a vampire. The shout of the doomed caravaner seemed to hang in the desert air for long seconds as the crouching thing dragged his victim into the darkness of the desert.

Anhalt charged at the retreating blue shape, saber held high, the weapon casting a green hue in the colorless pitch. The creature dropped the lifeless Tuareg and, in a blur, rushed under the belly of Anhalt's camel just as the blade swept down. The animal grunted and plunged to its knees, Anhalt leaping before it crashed into the sand. His saber spun in a wide arc as he jumped, catching the vampire as it flew toward him. Holding its chest, the thing staggered and then scrambled toward a hole in the sandy ground.

A rifle cracked and the vampire stumbled to the dirt. The weapon fired twice more, each bullet finding its target before the vampire slid away into the dark pit in the earth.

Stoddard appeared with his rifle trained on the hole, while Anhalt ran to the blue-robed Tuareg lying nearby. But even in the desert night, it was not difficult to perceive the man was already dead. Anhalt hoisted the man over his shoulders and rose to his feet. He waited until Stoddard awkwardly brought his camel alongside.

“Are you all right?” the American asked.

“Yes. The same cannot be said for this man, however.” Anhalt jerked on the tasseled bridle of Stoddard's camel, forcing it down onto its knees. “Kush! Kush!” The agitated camel, its eyes wild, groaned and threatened to spit. Anhalt slapped its fatty mouth and turned away. He heaved the dead man over the saddle behind Stoddard. He refused to let vampire vermin feed on the poor soul despite his inability to save him. He stripped his saddle off his dead mount, then swung up behind Stoddard.

“Hut! Hut!” The camel lurched to its feet and, without coaxing, veered back toward the column. The caravan leaders stood, robes billowing in the wind, debating with the captain of the Dyula mercenary guards, many of whom wore quilted armor and sported rifles or massive swords and axes on their backs

As the soldiers rode up, two men gently retrieved the body of their fallen brother while Anhalt dismounted. Stoddard shifted in his saddle with a creak of leather and a tinkle of bells.

“A vampire,” Anhalt told the group.

“We call them djinns, Monsieur Colonel,” replied Askiya, the captain of the Dyula. “And where there is one, there will be others.”

Anhalt knew the creatures existed nearly everywhere, even here in the Sahara Desert, although their numbers were quite small. Unique terrains created unique vampire types. These desert vampires appeared only at night; the day was far too hot. They spent the sunny hours buried deep under the sand or nestled in underground pools and caves. They lived along caravan routes or near oases to be close to food. Typically vampires who eked out their meager lives in the tropics were frail, desperate things that hunted with caution. They were nothing like the bold, vicious northern vampires who had wrecked industrial civilization.

Anhalt scanned with his goggles, but saw no sign of their presence. “Askiya, I see no others. Are you sure?”

The Dyula commander touched his nose. He could smell them. He was sure.

Stoddard checked his pocket watch, whose face glowed from the drops of chemical in its frame. “We've got about five hours until sunrise. We could just wait until the heat of the day.”

Askiya looked up, his dark face framed by a white headscarf. “No, Merikani. They won't wait now. They know we're here and they'll come. If we try to go around, they'll chase us. We have to fight. Here.”

“So what's your plan?” Anhalt inquired.

“We flush them out like rats. And we kill them.” The Dyula reached beneath his white robe to finger small fetishes attached to his quilted jerkin. “Do you pray, Equateur?”

“Not as a habit,” Anhalt replied.

“It helps against the djinns, as do our arrowheads made from the sacred stones.”

All the Dyulas began to chant in low murmurs as they deployed with practiced precision. Ten men unslung long-barreled breech-loading rifles and formed a skirmish line ahead of the camels. Another group began to string short bows and check quivers of feathered arrows. They took each arrow, murmured a prayer over it, and placed it in their quivers. Yet a third group pulled pistols and war axes, and prepared to assault the vampire warrens.

Anhalt asked, “Where would you like us, Askiya?”

“Hah!” The Dyula commander pointed back at the scores of camels that the Tuaregs were pulling down onto their stomachs to create a living fort in the lonely desert. “You and Merikani stay there. You are both guests of the caravaners. Plus, I don't want an Equatorian colonel's blood on my hands. I want to work this route again.”

“We've known each other for years,” the Gurkha replied stolidly. “I repeat, where do we go?”

Askiya grinned and swung his axe with a whisper of night air. He glanced at Stoddard. “You fight djinns, Merikani?”

“Many times.” Stoddard unslung his rifle and checked it.

Anhalt said, “He is the right hand of Merikani Clark.”

Several of the Dyula turned their heads to look intently at the American for the first time. There was some relieved laughter and friendly smiles, and their worry suddenly turned to confidence and expectation. Stoddard didn't speak, but he felt a sense of pride that his commander's name carried such weight, even out here. He hoped to live up to their expectations.

A loud jangling of bells filled the air, and the soldiers turned to see several Dyula leading horses. Arabians. Stoddard gasped at the beauty of the animals with their muscles twitching, their heads up and eyes bright. Blacks. Greys. He slid from the camel awkwardly without waiting for the beast to lower itself to his knees.

“These animals are magnificent.”

Askiya laughed at Stoddard's awe. “You ride, Merikani?”

“I do.” The American stared at the horses as the archers mounted. A Dyula handed him the reins of a dappled grey stallion. “I trained with cavalry.”

Askiya outlined the plan. He believed he knew where the vampires were hidden; he had seen this type of landscape many times. Rocky outcroppings straddled the caravan route where the creatures liked to shelter. The footmen, with Askiya in command, would move in, hoping to lure the vampires into the open. Failing that, they would find the creatures' pits and dig them out. Then the mounted archers would charge down to support the fight. Any creatures that tried to float away or attack the caravan would be picked off by the long guns.

That was the plan, at least. With vampires, there were countless things that could go wrong. The humans had no idea how many of the creatures were hidden in the rocks. They had no idea how hungry and desperate the things were. Plus, it was cold and dark, the two elements where vampires thrived.

Askiya gave a sharp whistle and his units moved out. Stoddard saluted Anhalt as he wheeled his mount and cantered off with the horsemen. The Gurkha fell in with the praying Dyula footmen trotting down the trail toward the rock formations. He drew his Fahrenheit saber and wished he knew a prayer to say, but he had never learned one.

Fifty yards from the rock face, Askiya halted to study the terrain. He conferred with several of his men with much pointing and gesturing. Then he returned to Anhalt's side.

“I see five holes that would suit them, Monsieur Colonel.”

“So only five vampires?”

“No. Five holes. Could be many inside the holes. And there could be more dwellings besides the five. I've never seen more than twenty in a nest like this. But who can say this time?” The Dyula eyed the Fahrenheit blade with a grunt of approval. “Nice sword. Don't die, Monsieur, okay?”

“I'll do my best.”

Whispering prayers, the Dyula footmen moved into the nest. Axemen went straight for the holes that were surrounded by sand piles. One man took up a position by each hole as the other warriors waited nearby with weapons in hand. When Askiya snapped his fingers, the men plunged axes into the narrow pits. They jabbed deep into the ground, twisting the long-handled cleavers with great effort.

One man shouted and started to pull back on his axe when he was yanked to the ground, and his head and shoulders sank into the soft sand. Dyula fighters raced to his side and seized his waist, dragging him out in a rush of sand, a ghostly white figure clutching his head. Multiple axes crashed onto the vampire, slicing flesh and breaking bones. The creature hissed and fought even as it was being dismembered.

Anhalt heard noise at his feet. Pale arms reached from the sandy ground. He struck the vampire a deep blow into the shoulder with his glowing saber, cutting through the breastbone and into the rib cage, leaving scorched flesh behind thanks to the chemical burn of the Fahrenheit blade. He fired his revolver into the thing's gnashing teeth, and several deadly Dyula axes sliced past him to shatter the creature into bloody bits.